


Hands Off

by unsettled



Series: Deep End [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Boss/Employee Relationship, Exhibitionism, Kinktober, M/M, Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, probably aou era, quentin is a tease, tony sucks at resisting temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: Tony’s attention is always divided, even when it seems like it’s not. That won’t do at all; Quentin wantsallof it.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Tony Stark
Series: Deep End [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982066
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20
Collections: Unsettled's Kinktober 2020





	Hands Off

Quentin sees how Tony is looking at him. Knows that kind of look, knows exactly what it means, even in as out of place context as it is. Even if it's— maybe not the last thing he expected, but close.

Tony wants him.

Or at the very least, is attracted to him, and it's dizzying at first. Tony's rich and famous and hot and brilliant, and he's even looked once at Quentin? Looked twice, and decided he liked what he saw? Talk about an ego boost.

He gets a little caught up in it for a while, stuck on that fact of Tony wanting him. Gets a little stuck on thinking about what exactly could happen, maybe a little too fixated on it considering the number of times he's gotten off thinking about those possibilities. But nothing's going to happen because in the end, Quentin is just another one of Tony's employees— star employees, sure, but there are enough geniuses here that Quentin's not alone at the top. Quentin's just another person Tony's looked at. He’s not going to do anything about it.

Not until Tony comes down again, one night when Quentin's working later than he should be, alone. Looks at Quentin’s progress again and the corner of his mouth quirks up in that startled, pleased little smile that's doesn’t show up that often. He flicks a glance at Quentin; "Shit," Tony says, "you're about to blow this out of the water."

Looks at him, a long, slow, obvious look, head to toe, a look Quentin can't ignore without looking stupid. Thi is probably a terrible idea that's going to blow up in his face, but— if it isn't, there could be some definite advantages to sleeping with the boss.

And he's never been that shy about going for what he wants.

He ducks his head a little more, glancing over at Tony. Catches his eye, and Quentin's been told several times that his are one of his best features. "I could blow you out of the water," he says, smiling quick and sharp, acknowledging how terrible of a line that is. "If you'd like."

Tony doesn't say anything for a moment, Quentin's nerves winding up. "I bet you could," Tony says, finally. "But I don't screw around with employees anymore. I've got a strict no touching policy now."

Quentin breaks his gaze and considers that. Turns to look at Tony more fully, a half step closer. "But if you did," he says, "you'd be interested."

Tony snorts. "Fuck yeah," he says. "Have you seen yourself?" and look, Quentin knows he's good looking but he still blushes at that, feeling heat rush into his cheeks.

"Well," Quentin says, catching the collar of his shirt and dragging it down a little, his thumb hooked behind one button, ready to open it. "That's ok. You don't have to touch, just watch."

There's a thick tension in the air, each of them waiting on the other, waiting to see what they'll do. "Alright then," Tony says finally, his voice rougher than before. "What have you got to show me?"

Quentin shudders. "Whatever you'd like," he tells Tony, and he's always liked showing off, always liked having all that undivided attention squarely on him.

“Oh, you decide,” Tony says, leaning in a little, somehow managing to loom despite his height, so close and yet not touching Quentin at all. “I want to see what you come up with.”

“Mmm,” Quentin hums, and pops a button of his shirt open, and another, going down the line, Tony’s eyes following his hand. Following it too when Quentin pauses and reaches for his pants, opening them up without pushing them down, without giving any further exposure. Just enough to let his shirt tails tug out of it easily, actually. 

He goes back to the buttons then, and Tony gives a little huff of laughter. “Oh,” he says, “you’re a tease then, are you?”

“Something wrong with drawing things out?” Quentin says, smirking at him. “I thought you were a hedonist.” He lets his shirt drop open all the way then, Tony’s gaze going immediately to his chest. Quentin drags his fingers up it and reaches out with a foot, hooking his chair, bringing it close enough to bump into Tony. “Don’t you want a better view?”

Tony raises his eyebrow but steps back anyway, sprawling out in the chair—in Quentin’s chair, fuck, he’ll get to remember that image forever—and spreading his hands. “Impress me.”

Quentin snorts. 

He takes his time, keeping it practically pg rated, leaning back against the desk, the edge just under his ass, not losing a single stitch more of clothing. His shirt is hanging open, pushed back just enough for Tony to watch Quentin play with his nipples, teasing them as his other hand slides down. His pants are open, but he doesn’t slide his hand inside, just fondles himself through all those layers. It’s not really about what he’s feeling, not really about getting off even. He wants— that tension, that anticipation hooked in Tony. Wants him watching, waiting, unable to do anything to hurry things along because this is Quentin’s show. 

Wants every last bit of Tony’s attention on him and nothing else.

It’s not even tempting to rush things along; Quentin wants this to last. He waits until he’s completely hard, his cock pushing almost painfully against his pants, and then takes his hand away. Picks his foot up and leans it against his knee, undoing the laces. 

“Bit risky, isn’t it?” Tony says as Quentin pulls off his shoe, brings up his other leg for a repeat. “You’re not going to be able to play this off as anything else if someone comes in, not if you’re naked.” 

“Is someone going to come in?” Quentin asks, because he’d be willing to bet good money Tony’s shut down access. Though it’s not like Quentin’s worried about the fallout if someone did wander by. 

“Probably not,” Tony says, neither confirming or denying; fun. 

Quentin hooks his thumbs under the edge of his pants and underwear. “I thought about just pulling out my cock and jacking off for you, but is that really a show worth your time? Or mine?” He shoves it all down, pulling his feet out and kicking it aside. Tony doesn’t respond, but Quentin catches a sharp inhale from him and that’s good enough. 

Even better is the way Tony’s gaze snaps to Quentin’s cock, fixating, and Quentin might not be overly well endowed but he’s still above average. He touches it, just one finger tracing up the shaft and over the head, spreading precome over it. Slow, delicately, watching how Tony’s eyes follow it, his attention well and truly caught. Fuck, yes, Quentin thinks, and he can nearly feel the weight of it, of Tony’s full attention focused on him. 

He plays for a bit before he settles down to stroking himself, but even then he’s not pushing to come. Getting himself close, sure, but the backing off at the last second is even better, watching how Tony tenses each time, his jaw twitching. “You really are a cocktease,” Tony says, low. “You this bad when someone’s fucking you?”

“When I feel like it,” Quentin says, loosening his hand and stroking himself soft, lazy. “When I don’t want it over too soon, and now that I’ve got your attention? I feel like it.”

“Besides,” he adds, “this isn’t even the main event.” He hitches himself up until he’s sitting on the desk, pulling one leg up onto it, spreading himself wide open. Gives his cock a good long stroke and brings his fingers, all sticky with precome, to his mouth, licking at them as he sets his other arm behind himself, pushing aside the crap on his desk so he can lean back. 

Tony’s cock is obviously hard, pushing at his pants, and he’s biting his lip. Quentin nods down at it. “Aren’t you going to do something about that?” Slides his fingers into his mouth while he waits for Tony to answer, slicking them up, being obscene about it. 

He doesn’t get an answer, doesn’t get another sound until he reaches down and pushes a finger into his ass, groaning softly at the feel of it. “Goddamn,” Tony mutters, and then Quentin can hear the sound of his zipper, can see how frantic his hands are as Tony pulls out his cock. 

“How many do you want in me before I come?” Quentin asks, and the way Tony’s eyes snap up to his is fucking delicious. “Two? Three?” He smirks, lowering his eyes enough he looks at Tony through his eyelashes. “Four?”

“Fuck,” Tony says, his hand on his cock. “You know what, you decide. I’ve been enjoying all your decisions so far.”

“You might regret that,” Quentin warns him, because he has a feeling he can draw this out a lot longer than Tony. After all, the more Tony wants to come, the closer he watches Quentin.

“I’m not regretting anything about this,” Tony says. 

Quentin takes his sweet time. 

He’s aware, on one level, of the sheer sensation of it; the push pull of his fingers inside himself, the stretch as he adds another, and another; the throb of his cock, achingly hard and dripping, rubbing along his forearm and smearing precome on it; the catch of his breath when he presses against his prostate, his whole body twitching; the way he’s slowly getting noisier, louder, so noticeable in the quiet of this lab. And it feels great, incredibly good, but honestly, it’s all a distant second to knowing Tony’s  _ watching _ him. 

Seeing that Tony is watching him, looking at every inch of Quentin, listening to him, his whole attention on Quentin; fuck, it’s so good. Seeing,  _ knowing,  _ that Tony’s watching him fingerfuck himself open and liking it, enjoying what Quentin’s doing; how it’s beyond obvious that’s true because Tony’s jacking himself off to this, to  _ Quentin,  _ like Quentin is as good as—fuck, better than—any porno. 

Watching Tony watch him like that, watching Tony squeeze his cock to keep himself from coming because apparently he wants to drag this out to— that’s all giving him a high better than coming ever could. 

Quentin’s got three in himself, has had three in himself so long he’s seriously considering going for four, when Tony’s gaze drifts from Quentin’s cock, dragging up the length of his body. Up, and up, until his eyes meet Quentin’s, brown indistinguishable from the black. “Fuck,” Tony rasps, “You goddamn tease, I can’t stand it anymore. Get off already.” Quentin laughs, a little breathlessly. Flutters his eyelashes at Tony.

“Say please,” he says. 

“You little fucking shit,” Tony snaps.  _ “Please.” _

Quentin shudders; god, he’s done that, he’s made Tony Stark beg without even touching him, without doing anything more than let Tony watch him. He thrusts his finger into himself harder, pressing his thumb down against his taint, pushing himself to get there now, to come so Tony can see that too, so Tony can get off because Quentin did. He groans, feeling his cock twitch as he rocks on his fingers; he’s losing any sort of control over what he sounds like, louder and more desperate as he edges closer. 

Tony’s watching him— not watching his cock, or his fingers, but watching him, eyes fixed on Quentin’s, and as much as Quentin wants to keep that contact, he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. He manages to, even if it’s nothing more than slivers as his head falls back, manages to keep watching Tony watch him, right up until the second he comes, eyes falling shut as he moans and tenses, his cock shooting off all over his chest. 

He pants, his ass still clenching around his fingers, and it doesn’t matter that he literally just came; hearing the sound of Tony’s hand on his cock, knowing that Tony saw that, is still watching, has him hot enough to want a whole nother round right this second. 

“Christ,” Tony hisses, and then he has a hand on Quentin’s wrist, Quentin’s eyes flying open at the touch. He gasps as Tony yanks his fingers out of himself, pulling his hand up until Quentin’s fingers are in his mouth,  _ fuck. _ Tony’s tongue slides over them, hot and wet and filthy as he grabs Quentin’s hips, sliding him further forward on the desk. Quentin pulls his fingers from Tony’s mouth, dragging them down Tony’s beard, slick and messy.

“Fuck it,” Tony says. “Technically, you’re Pepper’s employee anyway.”

“Is that so,” Quentin says, hooking his legs around Tony. 

“I have no clue,” Tony says, getting a hand around the back of Quentin’s head. “And I don’t care.”

Honestly, Quentin thinks as Tony kisses him, he doesn’t really care either.


End file.
